DRUNK

Why am I here? Too sober to forget, too drunk to drive. I hear you clicking away at your computer, undaunted by my presence on your couch.
My thoughts pour from my head. I scratch them down in my drunken stupor. They are screaming so even the darkest corners of my mind can hear them, but can you? Those dark corners eat up my thoughts and keep them safe until they can spew forth once again to fuel my paranoia. Keep them safe where they can mutate into thoughts of doubt and self-consciousness, slowly deteriorating that which took so long to build. The self I thought I was to the self that I am. Carved out and hollow. So little to build back.
I thought I could withstand this. And I could, the first few times. If I put what little I have into it, maybe one more. But if I do that, then what will be left? Nothing. Just the pathetic remains which are me. I pull together the tattered remnants to shroud the depression, the aggravation, the uselessness that is me. To put on the facade that I know what I'm doing. To make them think the optimistic outlook and sunny personality is who I really am, when in truth, I don't know who I am.
Why live like this? In doubt. Scrawling meaningless babble on a piece of paper, not to be remembered until alcohol is again the influence. Why go on when true thoughts can only be expressed through complete intoxication? The coveted sleep will not come, so I lay here in this room that is mere feet from you. You who may or may not care if I am here alone.
So, again, I say in my mind, "I'm here." But now I add, "Why don't you care?"